


Irresistible

by Ayngelcat



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 19:47:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rating: NC17<br/>Content: Sexual acts and constructicmut group sex, sticky, dubcon. Essentially PWP.</p><p>Summary: Why Scrapper finds it hard to get to meetings on time.</p><p>Thank you to Iskaa for illustrating this fic recently here: http://drunkangryrobot.livejournal.com/12869.html?view=68165#t68165</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irresistible

With an anxious glance at the time, Scrapper hurried towards the control room. He was early for this meeting. Very early. But this mattered not. Anything was preferable to keeping Megatron waiting.

But as he passed the medbay, the door opened, and a metal bar shot out. At its end dangled a familiar hook. Scrapper tried to dodge it, but he was not fast enough. The hook caught him, clicking in under his loader. He was yanked forcefully through the opening. The door hissed shut.

Scrapper dropped to the floor to the sound of transformation noises. He leaped up, and went to protest - in the loudest terms. But instead, he found himself shoved against the wall next to the door, his mask pulled off and a hand across his mouth.

“Sshhh ….” Hook said.

Scrapper yanked the hand away and shoved his gestalt partner backwards, which he had no trouble doing, being shorter than Hook but a great deal stockier and stronger.  “Are you outta your mind!” he yelled. “As if I have time for this! I’m meeting the boss in four breems!”

But Hook only grinned at him, wickedly. “That’s plenty of time!” he said.

…………….

Scrapper was forced back against the wall and Hook’s mouth closed over his, warm and hungry and tasting deliciously of hydraulic fluid. Scrapper tried to ignore his fritzing circuits, tried not to react to the hands which slid down his sides and then wandered back up again, the fingers which found their way into the hinges on his loader.

He would resist. He must resist! Their status was shaky enough here as it was – turning up for a meeting dishevelled and in the throws of post overload was out of the question.

And it wasn’t just the meeting. It was – this! Hook being _like this_. How many times had Scrapper wanted this from Hook? How many times had he caught himself fantasising about it or even staring longingly at his team-mate. “We’re gestalt partners,” he’d been told with a sardonic smile. “And we both have responsible positions. We need to act – professionally.”

He’d tried not to show his disappointment. But he knew Hook felt it. They all felt it. And now, this was just - _incredible!_ Except that why the _heck_ did Hook have to choose _right now_ to do it?

The hands continued their meanderings. Nodes Scrapper hadn’t known he had exploded into searing arousal. He ached to touch Hook back. But he steeled himself. “I told you - not a good time!” he mouthed into the kiss.

“Really?” Hook said. He drew back, pausing to brush Scrapper’s cheek with his hand. “I thought you wanted me. I thought any time was a good time?”

Through the visor, his optics were red, intense, and Scrapper melted inside, his resistance crumbling by the astrosecond. Hook kissed him again, more slowly, one hand sliding behind Scrapper’s helm, the other coasting down to grip his aft. Scrapper made one more last ditch attempt to break away, his hands pushing against Hook. But it became feeble. The universe went hazy, the meeting receding into far less important realms, as Scrapper allowed himself to be drawn into a blissful haven of throbbing warm crane.

His arms went around Hook. “That’s more like it!” Hook drawled.

………..

Scrapper was being pulled away from the wall, and manoeuvred towards the operating table. The last vestiges of resistance died away as he allowed himself to be pushed down. Then Hook was on him and over him, his hands everywhere. Scrapper grabbed hold of him, overcome with lust, the satiation of getting something so badly wanted, thudding through him.

And Hook wanted it too. He writhed urgently, touching, grabbing, metal scraping as their panels slid together. A light mist of steam filled the air as core temperatures rose. His mouth roved hungrily over Scrapper’s, his glossa exploring deeply.  He kissed Scrapper’s cheek, his jaw, his chin – denta grazing his neck.

Scrapper moaned, offlining his optics, arching his head back to expose the cords, His hands clutched at Hook’s shoulders as he thrust up, metal squealing as they ground rhythmically together.

“I thought you didn’t want this?’ Hook murmured, his movements becoming more stronger, air expelling from his intakes in short, hissing gasps. His hand slid down rubbing at Scrapper’s thigh, eager fingers exploring his pelvic plating. Scrapper felt hardness against his abdominal panels, moaned in sheer pleasure at the feel of Hook’s spike, his seething arousal and the sheer amount he was wanted.

“You know I want it,” he rasped. Hook’s energy field flared and Scrapper threw his head back, keening, wrapping his legs around Hook as his valve cover slid open.

“You’re hot, Scrapper,” Hook hissed, his excitement evident as his mouth roved. He bit down and Scrapper clutched at him, digging his fingers into to Hook’s chassis. “You have no idea!” he hissed back.

Steam rose from them in hot puffs. Scrapper squirmed, manoeuvred so that the spike was grazing the rim of his valve. “ _You’re_ hot,” he rasped. And then charge peaked, not enough to overload but to send an energy flare over Hook. Their frames crackled. Hook shuddered. “Nice,” he said. “And now I’m going to frag you, Scrapper. We all want it.”

And they all did. Scrapper was aware that the others had come together, could feel Mixmaster and Scavenger sliding in rhythm, their fields brushing with gentle need, whilst Longhaul and Bonecrusher shoved hard against each other, straining for connection, but putting off the moment until Scrapper and Hook connected.

“Do it!” Scrapper growled.

\-------------

But Hook didn’t.  He stopped moving and leaned up, and grasping both of Scrapper’s hands, looked deep into his optics. A smile appeared on his faceplates. It was faintly mocking, but enhanced his handsome, aquiline features. Scrapper gasped at the sheer beauty of his face.

“You _really_ want this?’ he teased.

His body was hard and hot, lust not obscured by the apparent self control. He shuddered, unable to prevent an energy flare from escaping, small but potent. Heat and charge rippled through Scrapper’s circuits. The spike rubbed his valve, hard and throbbing. Scrapper’s valve spilled lubricant. “Please …” he said.

“How much do you want it? How much do you want _me?”_ Hook hung on to his wrists, grinding his spike again.

“A lot!” Scrapper wailed. He writhed, hotly, hands tearing into metal, trying to position his valve.  He _would_ get that spike, right now, whether his cog sucker of a team mate wanted that or not. His heels ground against Hook’s crane shaft. “Aft!” he spat out.

“Tell me!” Hook’s optics bore into him. “How much?”

Scrapper’s denta clenched. “I want you, I fragging want you, you piece of pit!” he ground out. “Now frag me. That is an order from your leader!” he squirmed hard, managing to wrench his hands from Hook’s grip.

Hook let his wrists go, laughing softly. But then he shivered and heat radiated as his optics gleamed, wild and predatory. His hands were shaking as he put them either side of Scrapper’s shoulders.  Then he leaned up and thrust in, visor flaring brilliant crimson as he thrust in. A guttural groan reverberated through Scrapper.

Scrapper screamed as hot throbbing steel filled his valve. He thrust up, heels digging in, valve opening wide to take its length, feeling it go far, far inside. His deep node fritzed with pleasure and he shrieked again, as currents roared through his core and to every extremity, making his spark pulse and flare.

“Oh frag you’re amazing!” he said.

“I know,” Hook gasped. He pulled out, on fire with need. Then slammed in again.

And then he was away, fragging Scrapper as hard and huge and fast, just as Scrapper had always wanted. Scrapper’s legs clamped around him and he bucked up, his hands gripping Hook’s arms. The hook broke loose, dangling over his chest and he grabbed it and squeezed, the guttural sound which came from Hook and the hardening of his spike, the frenzied thrusts which followed driving his charge up faster.

Oh frag YES!” Scrapper shouted, gripping the hook as time after time his valve was filled, forcefully, wonderfully, the table shaking beneath them as they clanged together.   

And he could feel the others, the erotic joy of Scavenger and Mixmaster, the borderline violence of Bonecrusher and Longhaul. He had never felt so together with them all as they went at it in a simultaneous quest for utopia and release.

“All right …” Hook’s face was wild, desperate.  He went faster and faster, deeper and deeper. The universe dissipated, the ceiling above dissolving into haze in which only Hook’s optics burned like crimson coals. Static buzzing in his audios. He felt Hook’s metal in his hands, the other robot deep in him, felt his warmth, his scent, his need. As Hook swept closer, so did Scrapper, until Hook as shuddering, his spike throbbing wildly, right on the brink.

Hook slowed, his intakes heaving, fans whirring. “Don’t stop!” Scrapper gasped.

Hook didn’t. “Tell me you want me more than anything else in the universe,” he panted, thrusting in.

“For frag’s sake I do!” Scrapper gasped. “I’ve always wanted you.”

Hook’s hips thrust violently and his spike cannoned in twice, three times more before he exploded, fluid filling Scrapper’s valve, washing in and running out as the flash of released charge exploded over his body. Scrapper screamed, overloading hard, the energy pouring out of him in brilliant blue flashes.

He clung to Hook as as his valve clamped, soaking up the discharge. Then there was only Hook, and utter satiation, and his spark, pulsing in unison with Hook’s, the others joining them in their own symphony of togetherness and bliss.

………………

They lay there panting, Hook collapsed on top of him.

Hook moved. Scrapper’s optics onlined to see him smiling self satisfactorily, his face filled with undisguised triumph. “Well now, can’t be lying around here all day, can we?”’ he said. He heaved up, moving himself off Scrapper.

Scrapper didn’t really want that. Through the bond he could feel Scavenger and Mixmaster kissing and caressing, Bonecrusher and Longhaul still locked from their combative release but surrounded by affection and companionship.  Scrapper wanted that. He wanted to stay here and be held by Hook, told he was – appreciated.

But Hook was already up and headed for the washroom. “Come on slacker,” he said. “First patient’ll be here soon. You don’t really want a Seeker to see you like that, do you? Besides …” he smirked, “I thought you had a meeting?”

“Yeah …..” Scrapper let the disappointment pass, forced his mind to return to the mundane and considerably more urgent business of being the Constructicon leader, an elite officer within the Decepticon forces. Checking the time, he saw that he still had half a breem to make it to the control room.

He got up, noting the messed up, crooked operating table, the fluid dripping on to the floor. He glanced ruefully at it one last time, wishing the impossible – that it were a berth and they were snug in his quarters, and that neither of them had any commitments for the rest of the day. Then he crossed hastily to the washroom.

“One more thing,” Hook said as they doused themselves side by side. “Before you start with Mags, can you tell Scavenger to come and clear up that mess? It'll frag up my bedside manner."

Scrapper couldn't think of a reply.


End file.
